serious. “It’s not fake for her, and it’s definitely not all about sex for you.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Seriously, Carsen. Pull your head out of your ass and look at yourself. How many nights out of the last week have you slept alone?”
“I have—” I stop myself when it hits that in the last ten days, I’ve slept alone once, and that was because Abi worked through the night at the hotel to cover for someone who was sick. Nine nights—five at mine, four at hers—every one of them spent together. And not just spent having sex—although there was a hell of a lot of that. We’ve watched movies and made dinners, and just spent time together.
My one fuck-up was not telling her about Dad’s visit and little ‘talk’ on Friday. But well over a month after hooking up with her, and spending more and more time together, it seems anything but fake.
“You may be one of the smartest men I know, but how on earth can you be so blind?” Thomas continues.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Go find your woman, and I can guarantee if you ask the right questions, you’ll get the right answers.”
“You’re getting to be very sage-like in your abstinence. You should take this show on the road. If you can’t get laid, at least make money from it.”
He laughs. “Maybe I’m choosing not to have sex. Ever considered that?”
I lean forward, downing the rest of my beer and placing the empty bottle on the coffee table. “Is it because of the rash? Because I can prescribe you cream for that and you’ll be all cleared up and ready to jump back in the saddle in seven days, I swear.”
“You’re a dick, you know that?” he says, flipping me the bird.
“Just saying, penicillin is your friend.”
“Go find that woman of yours before I jump into her saddle.”
I gasp in mock horror as I stand up. “And make you break your new vow of celibacy? That wouldn’t be very nice of me. I’ll get rid of the temptation and go deal with my woman in the best way I know how.”
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll turn the sound up,” he says wryly.
“Practice safe abstinence and grab the noise-cancelling headphones. Might be better for you and your . . .” I nod to his lap, “health.”
“Fuck off, Noddy.”
“Love you, too,” I retort, chuckling as I leave the living room and make my way up the hallway to the back of the house where the master bedroom is situated.
Abi’s outburst today surprised me, but not for obvious reasons. Her words felt great—fucking fantastic, in fact—and at the time I’d wanted to sweep her up into my arms and carry her to my bed to stake my claim once and for all. Due to company, I hadn’t been able to do that; instead, I’d made sure she knew I had no problem with what she said.
I’d hoped that I’d reassured her, but the rest of the night, guys on one side, girls on the other, she seemed distant. Abi-Jane Cook and closed-off don’t belong in the same sentence.
One thing that was blatantly clear is that things between the two of us are not as clear-cut as they were at the start when it was just a guy and a girl hooking up at a bar. Or the second night when it was two acquaintances who knew they rocked each other’s worlds beneath the sheets and wanted a repeat.
This is more than that, and if I’m honest with myself, I’ve known that for a while, maybe even from that second morning. I’ve just been comfortable with what we have and enjoying it—and her—every way I can. I’ve had bad days at work and still ended my shift smiling because I knew I was heading home to Abi.
Fuck, I’m an idiot. Guys do this. We live in the moment, liking the who, the what, and the how, and we don’t look deeper into the why.
In this case, the why is I like Abi. I like what we’ve got together. I don’t want her with anyone else but me. I want to see where this could go. I don’t want fake, I want real, and I want real with her.
Girls—in my experience—are all about the why. They can obsess over the why, or more so, the why not. Abi is not like any other girl. She’s been right there with me enjoying the who—I hope so, anyway—the what and the how. Especially the way